and place; but I am so
far mended as to feel that.”
“It must be an immense satisfaction!”
He said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again: which was a
large one.
“As to me, the greatest desire I have, is to forget that I belong to
it. It has no good in it for meexcept wine like thisnor I for it.
So we are not much alike in that particular. Indeed, I begin to
think we are not much alike in any particular, you and I.”
Confused by the emotion of the day, and feeling his being there
with this Double of coarse deportment, to be like a dream, Charles
Darnay was at a loss how to answer; finally, answered not at all.
“Now your dinner is done,” Carton presently said, “why don’t
you call a health, Mr. Darnay; why don’t you give your toast?”
“What health? What toast?”
“Why, it’s on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be, it must be,
I’ll swear it’s there.”
“Miss Manette, then!”
“Miss Manette, then!”
Looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast,
Carton flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it
shivered to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another.
“That’s a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr.
Darnay!” he said, filling his new goblet.
A slight frown and a laconic, “Yes,” were the answer.